Harry Potter and the Jewels of Sun and Moon
by Cloud Streak
Summary: Harry, Ron, Hermione, and several others are asked to come to Hogwarts for an eighth year to get a better education, since they missed a year. One problem: an orginization powerful enough to destroy the wizarding world has come! I don't own Harry Potter.


"Wake up, Harry." Ron shook him.

"No," he mumbled.

"I'm going to let the cat in."

"No you won't."

"I'm opening the door, Harry. The cat is running up the stairs. The cat is in the room. The cat is-"

"ARGGGGGH!" Harry shot out of the sleeping bag on the floor, Crookshanks still latched to his face. "Ron, you git!"

"Er, sorry Harry. Didn't know he'd get so into it." The redhead tried to get Crookshanks to retract his claws, but he wouldn't budge. Eventually, A well-aimed punch from Harry finally sent him onto the floor and running out of the room.

"Next time, can you just slap me or something?" Harry muttered. Long, wiry scratches raced across his face. Ron grinned. Harry allowed a smile to come on his face as well.

Life was good. As an official Hogwarts graduate, Harry had been invited to stay at the Burrow over the summer until he could find a place of his own. He was in no hurry to stay. Hermione was there as well, but for a different reason. Ron had proposed to her on the Hogwarts Express ride back from Hogwarts.

"Trying to make me look bad, huh?" Harry had laughed. "Now everybody expects me to go propose to Ginny the day she graduates."

"Hey," Ron answered, "It's not my fault you couldn't find a chick your own age." Harry had punched him jokingly.

"I think mum's making pancakes, mate. Let's go." Harry nodded, and they began to descend the long staircase. Hermione joined them halfway down, wearing lavender pajamas and with a crazy head of hair.

"Hermione," Ron explained, "there's this thin called a hair-brush. You see, all you have to do is-" Ron was slammed against the wall roughly as she flicked her wand.

"Somebody's not a morning person," he grumbled sourly, rubbing his shoulder. At the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Weasley was already waiting for them.

"Ah, Harry, Hermione," she said warmly, "Good morning."

"Good morning to you, too, mum." Ron shot. She ignored him.

"Arthur and Percy already left for work, so it's just us for now. Ginny still has a cough, so I'll let her sleep for a while. Same with George."

"George doesn't have a cough!" Ron shouted. "He should have to be up by eleven like the rest of us!"

"George's going through some tough times, honey." George had been staying at the Burrow over the summer, too, not staying in Diagon Alley. The fate of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was still unknown, but due to the huge success in it's first years, George had enough money to take a couple months off.

"Are you serious! You know, I don't care if he's a bloody twin! Fred was my brother, too, and I don't get any special-" Ron stopped. Mrs. Weasley was crying.

Undoubtedly, this was the worst part of staying at the Burrow. It seemed like no matter what precautions were made, the conversations always ended up on Fred. The Weasleys' magic clock had been put in the attic, since Fred's hand seemed to be permanently lodged on 'mortal peril'. And Mr. Weasley refused to let it be taken off the clock. They stood at the bottom of the stairs for a few minutes. Harry and Hermione looked at each other in awkward silence as Ron tried to comfort his mother.

"The pancakes," she sniffed. A horrible burning odor wafted into the room.

"I'll get them!" Harry and Hermione volunteered in unison, leaving the scene as quickly as they could.

"_Reparo!" _Hermione whispered. The blackened griddle was instantly repaired, but the torched pancakes were left to clean up.

"This is bad, Harry." Hermione whispered, throwing them into the trash and beginning to look for eggs to cook as a replacement.

"Really? I thought I was wonderful."

"_Seriously, _Harry! These things are staring to happen more and more often. Just last night Percy and Ginny were having a row about which of them got to keep Fred's broom."

"That's not morbid at all." Harry muttered.

"Well, honestly, Harry, they can't just ignore the issues forever! Fred is dead, and there's no way to change that!" She smashed an egg to hard against the side of a bowl, and began to pick out the shells.

"Yes, but we need to give it time." Harry said.

"The longer we wait, the worse things are getting!"

"Look, I think I know a little more about this then you, Hermione." She slammed down a whisk furiously, snapping it in two.

"Oh do you! So suddenly you're better then me because your parents are dead. I'm to stupid to understand!"

"That's not what I meant! I just-" But she was already storming out of the room. She whipped around the corner, smashing into a sleepy Ginny.

"Sorry," Ginny yawned. Hermione stormed off without answering. Shrugging, Ginny strode into the kitchen and planted a soft kiss on Harry's cheek.

"Morning," he sighed.

"What happened here?" Ginny looked at the half-made scrambled egg liquid, still swimming with shells.

"Hermione happened."

"Well, she's never been the best chef." Ginny threw out the second breakfast attempt of the day and began to make cereal. Harry blushed, unable to avert his eyes from her beautiful behind as she turned.

"I have to go to Diagon Alley for school supplies tomorrow, Harry. I don't want to make mum come along, after all, there's only one person to shop for this time. Wanna come?"

"Sure. It's a date." Ginny smiled.

"So how's it going looking for a job," Ginny asked.

"Oh, you know the Ministry. Slow as ever. I haven't gotten any of my applications back yet."

"Well, they have a lot of cleaning up to do, plus a lot of them are asking for days off to go to funerals and such. Dad says that'll be the case for a while."

"Well, I have enough money for now." Harry sighed.

"I wish my parents had been rich," Ginny sighed. "The only people who have ever been rich in this family were Fred and George, and who knows how that'll end up." She went silent. Harry saw a small tear trickle down her freckly cheek. He reached out to comfort her, but she turned away hastily, dropping the cereal bowl on the floor.

"Jesus Christ, Ginny," Ron muttered walking in, "That's the third bowl this week." Ginny pulled out her want.

"_Reparo._" The bowl whizzed back together on the counter. Ginny dropped to her knees with a dishtowel and began to clean up the milk.

"Shut up, Ron!"

"Somebody's grumpy," he hissed.

"I'm not feeling well, you bastard!" she spat.

"Well, at least now I know why Hermione couldn't find her hairbrush. Somebody shoved it up your ass." Ginny shot poison out of her eyes ran angrily out of the room. Ron left through the other exit.

"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley sniveled, turning the corner. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"No thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I'll just take a granola bar. He snatched one off the counter and left the room as well.

Not exactly a dream breakfast, but Harry didn't want to see a fourth meal started and ruined.

6


End file.
